


The Voicemail

by gracesfonda



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Frankie Bernstein, Grace Hanson - Freeform, Grace and Frankie - Freeform, Jane Fonda - Freeform, Lesbian, Lily Tomlin, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracesfonda/pseuds/gracesfonda
Summary: Since Frankie left, Grace sits alone, eats alone, drinks alone, but she doesn’t laugh alone. Laughing is reserved for happy people, reserved for the person she was before Frankie left her for Santa Fe. Left her for another man. Left her for another life. Grace sits in silence, day after day, typing Frankie’s number into her phone only to erase it time after time. Grace instead tells herself Frankie will call. She will. Of course she will. Because after all, how can Frankie be fine when Grace is like this?





	The Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> okay guys sorry this is shitty but i had to write somethingggggg. anyway enjoy.

When Frankie left, Grace encouraged her to, Grace was being a good friend. Grace was telling Frankie what she needed to hear. Grace was being selfless. Grace had finally understood how to love unconditionally, and maybe she got it too late, but she finally knew what it meant to love someone so much that the only thing that matters is them, the chance to see them smile, the opportunity to make them happy. Them, them, them. Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. 

Grace slowly adjusts to Frankie’s absence, in a way that was anything but healthy. Grace hardly eats, less than she did before, if that’s even possible. She takes twice as many sleeping pills. Drinks three times as much vodka. Dives headfirst into the vibrator business, always with a martini in her hand. 

Grace looks forward to Frankie’s weekly skype calls, sits at home every Wednesday all day, just incase Frankie decides to call early. She doesn’t drink on these days, she wants to savor her conversations with Frankie, she doesn’t want her clouded judgement to be the one talking. 

Frankie calls religiously every Wednesday at 4:00 PM for 4 months, until one day, she just doesn’t. 

Frankie doesn’t call, doesn’t text to reschedule. And Graces heart pounds erratically and unhealthily, her sober mind working triple time. Where is she? Is she okay? Was it another stroke? Grace doesn’t drink at all that night, no matter how much she is tempted to take the edge off of her worry. She doesn’t take any sleeping pills, or even any advil for her sore knee. She stays awake, stays sober, stays alert, stays focused. All she can think about is Frankie. Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. 

Grace texted Frankie at least a hundred times, a hundred times easily, and Grace called her about just as many, she facebooked her, anything she could think of shy of sending smoke signals. 

Grace prayed to every god and goddess she could think of, please don’t let her die before I get to hold her again, please don’t take away my happiness, don’t take my best friend, she cried, her tears freely falling, hoping she was being listened to, no matter how selfish she was being. 

Grace didn’t sleep that night, not even a wink, her eyes were glued to her phone, and at 6:48 AM her phone chimed, Grace had never reacted so fast to anything. She opened Frankie’s text, relief flooding her body before she had even read what her friend had typed. 

sorry got so high i forgot cell phones even existed and jacob said i was trying to skype a framed picture of you. spent this whole time looking for my phone, hope i didnt wake you since it’s so early but i knew you were worried ❤️❤️❤️

Grace felt the tears streaming down her face before she realized she was crying. She began typing back but she didn’t know what to respond. She didn’t know how to express her feelings. 

Frankie’s bubbles pop up again, then another text. 

i see you keep typing. writing a book or what? hope you’re not mad, kevin. 

The tears continued to fall as Grace laughed at her best friend. Laughed through the tears. Laughed uncontrollably. 

Frances, she typed, I am not mad, I am crying and I am laughing. I think this is due to my exhaustion, I haven’t slept all night because I was worried about you. Sounds like the pot out in Santa Fe is far better than it is here. Glad you’re enjoying yourself, xx

And, with that, Grace doesn’t pick her phone back up for a few days. No one gets ahold of her, besides a few winks on that bloody dating website Frankie signed her up for and Grace can’t figure out how to delete off her phone. 

The next Wednesday, Grace waits. And Frankie doesn’t call. She sends a text this time, some excuse about being with Jacobs kids. Graces heart breaks slightly, realizing she doesn’t get to hear Frankie laugh that night. 

After that Frankie’s skype calls become less and less frequent until they’re once a month, then they stop all together. And Graces heart breaks a little more each Wednesday at 4 PM, although she doesn’t just sit home all day, moping. 

Grace deals with this in a series of ways, she begins sleeping with Nick. She lets him make her feel as good as he can, which isn’t much but it’s better than nothing. She likes the distraction, likes how long it takes to get ready for an hour of sex with him. Likes that it leaves no time to think about Frankie. Likes the occasional orgasm. Likes how he tells her she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen whether it’s when she’s fully dressed, or whether it’s when he’s fucking her. 

On a rare occasion when Frankie actually took the time to skype Grace, it was slightly right after Nick had rolled off from her slightly sweaty body. She was still out of breath, and Nick was still in her bed. The alcohol coursing through her blood gave Grace the courage to swipe her phone open and answer the call with only a sheet covering her still toned and tan body. 

Frankie did not appreciate Grace in her freshly fucked form and had no problem telling her just that. 

“Is that Skullcap IN YOUR FUCKING BED? I can not believe you, lady. That is low. You know how I feel about him!” 

“You left, Frankie!” Grace shot back, “why do you even care who I fuck anyway?” She asked, her brows squinted together, confused at Frankie’s attitude. 

“You could do so much better, Grace. Does he even make you cum?” Frankie asks, way too bluntly, giving Grace the most awkward sense of deja vu. 

“Jesus Christ,” Grace mumbles. 

“Of course I fucking do, Kooky!” Nick chimes in, with a huge, shit eating grin. 

“She’s faking it, you fucking idiot,” Frankie mumbles and Grace is thankful when Nick doesn’t hear her, because Frankie is right. While sometimes he does give her an orgasm, when it happens it’s mostly accidental on his part. Three out of four times, she’s faking it. 

“Frankie, I dont have time for this right now, I just wanted to say hi, I was hoping to get another round out of Nick before I kick him out for the night,” Grace says with a wink. 

“That’s disgusting, Grace. Did you make him get tested before you let him inside of you?” 

“Goodbye, Frankie,” and with that, Grace set down her phone. 

“Get out,” Grace told Nick as soon as her phone hit her nightstand. 

“What? You just told Kooky we were going for round two.”

“Yeah, well, I lied. You gotta go,” Grace said, persistently as she pulled her sheet up over her body, leaving only her face and some of her neck exposed. 

“What did I do wrong?” Nick asked, concern written all over his face. 

“Nothing, I’m just tired and you know sleeping here is against my rules,” Grace muttered. 

“If you say so, Grace. But, you’re living in denial. You wanted to make Kooky jealous. Thats why you picked up her call, why you told her you wanted to fuck me again. Goodbye, Grace.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grace said, in a voice she wasn’t sure belonged to her. 

Nick placed a kiss on Graces forehead and he walked out of her life. Hopefully for good, Grace hoped as she walked to her dresser and picked her favorite vodka, pouring herself a generous glass. 

She walked to her bed and pulled her short, black, silk robe on over her naked form and quickly finished her first glass of vodka. Then she pours another, and drinks it as fast as the first. Grace knows this isn’t a good idea, knows she is already buzzed from the drinks she had before Nick arrived and the drinks she had when Nick was over. 

Finding herself a little drinker than she usually gets, Grace laughs at herself. Laughs at her life, at her feelings she’s tried so hard to hide, but are obviously clear to someone as oblivious as Nick. She places her vodka on her nightstand, without looking and hears something fall to the ground. 

Fuck, she thinks as she drunkenly leans over to grab whatever it was. Finding her cell phone she picks it up to find herself face to face with Frankie, once again on a skype call. 

“Oops, Frankie, Im sorry! I didnt mean to call you, I dropped my phone,” Grace apologizes, not understanding in her drunk state how her phone got unlocked and called Frankie, and how she picked up in the short amount of time. 

“You didn’t call me, Grace. You never hung up the first time,” Frankie says, bluntly. 

Graces mind races, fuck me, she thinks. Her whole conversation with Nick comes back to her, hitting her like a train. All the air leaves Graces body, and she can’t think straight. 

“Oh, so how much of that did you hear?” Grace asks, not looking at her phone, looking anywhere but at her phone and she wishes more than anything the vodka was still in her hand. 

“All of it, I think,” Frankie answers. “I kept saying ‘Grace!’ but you must not have been able to hear me. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But, was he right, Grace? Is that why you answered? Why you wanted me to see you, post-fake-orgasm? So I’d be jealous? Which, by the way, I am not because I know I could actually make you come undone, like you never have before and he is only a mediocre lover who can’t get you off,” Frankie says with a wink, and a laugh. And it’s That Laugh, the one that makes Grace weak in the knees. The Laugh that Grace loves more than anything. Her words also effect Grace in a way she wasn’t expecting, in a way words hadn’t effect her since Frankie had left, sending shivers down her spine, her words make muscles in Graces lower stomach tighten, Grace finds her thighs pushing together. 

Grace uses any excuse to hang up, as fast as she can and the first one that comes to mind is, “Frankie, my phone has 3%, gotta go!” And she hangs up, actually hangs up this time. She makes sure, three times. 

And, Grace drinks. She pours them, and pours more. She has gotten away from Frankie’s remarks for months, hasn’t has to deal with any ideas Frankie has put in her head, hasn’t had to deal with any temptations. 

She’s only had to deal with the ideas her own mind forms, her dreams, her fantasies. The vidid images she wakes with, her head buried between Frankie’s thighs, searching for treasure with her eager tongue, her pulling Frankies hair as Frankie moans, Grace slipping her fingers gently around Frankies throat with one hand as she pleasures her with her other hand, when Grace wakes like this, she finds her fingers already finding the spot she needs them most when her mind is still foggy with sleep. Grace cums with her friends name on her tongue, threatening to spill out, threatening to tell her secret. And, one late night, it overflows out of her tightly wound body, the secrets out. 

And Grace screams her best friends name as she cums harder than she has in her entire 75 years on this earth. And after that, she doesn’t hold back. When she masturbates, it’s Frankie on her mind. It’s Frankies name she moans. It’s Frankie she wishes was there with her, making her fantasies reality. 

But Grace hasn’t let anyone in on this secret, the thick walls of her bedroom are the only things that know her secret exists, and they can thankfully keep it well. Grace avoids Frankie, afraid Frankie will be able to tell by the way Grace looks at her. And, Frankie hardly skypes so Grace doesn’t have to worry about it much. 

The morning after she kicked Nick out, Grace finds herself groggy, not fully awake, not even sure she’s fully alive, but what she is sure about is she is already hating her life at this early hour. She slowly opens her right eye, the bright sunlight flooding in through the window is making her alcohol induced pounding head even fucking worse. She feels herself retreating into herself, like a turtle that is scared. Except Grace isn’t scared, never scared. At least, not visibly scared. At the moment she’s pissed. Pissed at the world, pissed at her life, pissed at her hangover, pissed she’s not still drunk, pissed at Frankie, but mostly she’s pissed at herself. For being a coward. Pissed at herself for leaving Frankie a voicemail late last night in her very drunken state, with her words slurring, voice cracking, body shaking, crying, confessing, honest, truth telling, long, sad, embarrassing voicemail. The voicemail asking — begging — Frankie to come home. 

Grace has spent her whole life chasing perfection. The perfect life, the perfect body, the perfect company, at least through others eyes, she had it, because that’s what mattered to her. The way others saw her. And, Grace thought perfection meant happiness. And, that might have been the biggest lie of her sad, miserable life. Not that it was all miserable, she has her kids, she had Frankie. 

Slowly rising up from Frankie’s old leather couch that always leaves an ache in her back for days, yet she can’t seem to get a good nights sleep anywhere else, Grace catches a glimpse of herself in the long mirror Frankie has in the corner of the studio — Grace looks anything but perfect. Compared to last night, she doesn’t even look like the same person. The only thing that remains the same is the black silk robe. 

The harsh morning light reveals her to look horrid, scary, downright ugly, and disgraceful are just a few things that pop into Graces mind as she quickly looks away from her hungover, tear stained face with more mascara runs than a teenage girl going through her first breakup — Since Frankie left she’s found herself here more and more. In Frankies studio. At first it was just so she could remember what it felt like to be in Frankie’s presence, then it was to eat dinner so she didn’t feel alone, then it was dinner and reading a chapter of her book, then a whole book, then a nap, then it was after she’d fuck Nick, then a night spent here when she couldn’t sleep in her own bed and now she can’t sleep in her room without feeling like a stranger there. Here she feels home. 

Fuck me, I need to get a grip, Grace says out loud to no one in particular, as she rubs her fingers into her forehead. Grace bends over and grabs her bottle of half gone vodka from the floor and takes a swig. The best way to get behind a hangover like this is to keep drinking before she fully sobers up, which is hardly ever. She keeps herself medicated and intoxicated as much as she can, she likes to numb her pain. 

Hangovers hurt more than they used to but that doesn’t seem to slow Grace down any. Not when her best friend is almost 1,000 miles away, not when she can’t clean Frankie’s hair brush weekly, not when she has to go to Frankie’s favorite farmers market alone, not when Frankie isn’t constantly snooping in her business, not when she’s missing their weekly movie dates, where Frankie always picks the movie, and it’s always horrible, not when Frankie isn’t bursting through doors without knocking, not when Frankie isn’t giving her a reason to live and certainly not when she feels all of this loneliness at once. 

The vodka at least can numb Grace into oblivion, she can drink and drink, until she can’t remember that Frankie isn’t actually there. She can drink until she is drunk enough to carry on a conversation with the Frankie in her head and think she’s laying there beside Grace, claiming her side of Graces bed, leaving strands of her hair for Grace to find for days. She can drink until she thinks her skinny fingers are actually Frankies slamming into her core as her body shakes with a building orgasm. She can drink until she falls asleep and dreams nothing but images of Frankie and only hears Frankie’s laugh. Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. 

Grace keeps drinking her vodka, self pity swallowing her whole, as she sinks further into herself, further into Frankies couch, which smells just like her. Graces eyes begin to water, tears threatening to fall at any second, tears for her best friend, tears for her selfishness, tears for her own final years she’s living alone when all she wants is Frankie next to her, but she doesn’t have the energy to stop them and she lets them flow. Hard. Her eyes burn and her chest heaves up and down with each erratic breath she takes. Crying in the light of day is much different than her usual routine of being hidden by the darkness of the night, but nothing stops her tears once they start. 

Grace hears her phone vibrate from somewhere that sounds somewhat far away and she stand up on unsteady legs to begin her search. The vibration pattern is Frankies. She begins to look harder. 

Grace is on her knees on the ground with her arm deep under the couch, touching god knows what, when her hand finally connects with her phone. She quickly pulls it out from under the couch as she answers it without looking. 

“Grace,” Frankie says, low, almost a whisper, her voice full of something Grace has never heard before. “Open the door,” Frankie tells her. 

“What?” Grace says, looking towards the door, confused. 

“Just do it,” Frankie, says again. Her voice cracking. 

Grace throws her phone down on the couch, her feet moving faster than what is safe for her 75 year old body and she is flinging herself at the door, willing Frankie to be on the other side of it. 

When Grace opens the door, she’s met by Frankie, looking more nervous than she’s ever seen her. 

“Oh, Grace,” Frankie whispers, leaning forward, placing her hand on Graces cheek, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I couldn’t get in the way of your happiness, Frankie, that’s all that matters to me,” Grace chokes out, her eyes only focusing on Frankies. 

Frankie wipes the lone tear streaming down Graces face, as she leans in. Her lips meet Graces, and it’s not slow, or romantic, or even somewhat sweet, it’s primal. It’s full of need, it’s exploration that’s far overdue yet feels anything but new. It’s tongues and teeth and moans and bites all in one until neither of them can breathe and the break apart only latch onto each other in other ways. Grace is up against the side of the studio, her leg is wrapped around Frankies waist, her hips pushing into Franke, Graces hands are in Frankies hair, gently pulling. One of her fantasies already coming true. 

Grace can hardly comprehend what’s happening, she’s not hungover anymore, her body is alive everywhere Frankie is touching her. Her skin is hot, her body is aroused. Graces lips connect with Frankies collar bone, she bites down, she licks, she tastes salt and she immediately knows she needs to taste more of Frankie. All of Frankie. 

“Frankie,” Grace says, voice shaky and low, “we have to go inside, now. I need you out of those clothes.”

Frankies eyes are wide and full of lust, Grace has never seen her look more beautiful, her hair messy, cheeks flushed, a small hickey forming on her neck. Grace walks quickly inside, towing Frankie behind her, she closes and locks the door before stripping off her little black robe, revealing her naked body to Frankie, who is visibly shaking. 

“What’s wrong?” Grace asks, taking Frankies hand in hers. “You’re shaking,” she points out. “Frankie, we don’t have to do this, if it’s not what you want.” Grace begins to put her robe back on, her ego taking a huge blow. 

Frankie reaches out and rips the robe from Graces hands, throwing it on the floor. Frankie places a kiss on Graces neck, and Grace tilts her head to give her better access. 

“I want this more than anything, Grace. That’s why I’m shaking, with want. For you, you did this. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now, and I’m glad it’s finally happening,” Frankie says between kisses, as she begins to travel down, from Graces neck to her chest, her breasts. Frankie sucks a nipple into her hot mouth, and bites down gently. Grace arches into her, her hands pulling at Frankies clothing. Frankie switches to the other breast, before continuing her journey down. She spends extra time loving the parts of Graces body she knows Grace hates. She kisses her her arms, and her stomach extra softly and digs her fingers into Graces skinny hips. 

Frankie backs Grace up until she is met with the couch and gently falls back onto it, her legs falling open with her. Frankie looks down at the beauty in front of her. She takes it all in, Grace with her makeup running down her face, her eyes frantic with need, her naked body waiting for what it deserves. 

Frankie kneels down on her knees in front of Grace, glad there happens to be a pillow not far away and she rests it under her knees. Frankie places soft kisses on her left knee, then the other, she moves incredibly slowly towards Graces core. Graces hips buck with anticipation, her breathing becoming more erratic. Frankies palms are pushing Graces already spread legs, even further apart and she snakes her hands behind Graces back, pulling her forward. Frankie is now lapping at Graces inner thighs when she hears Grace begging her. 

“Frankie, please, I need you,” Grace whines, her voice shaky and breaking, her hips inching forward, Frankie knows Grace doesn’t beg, knows she never had begged for anything in bed, or out of bed. Frankie feels a wave of excitement flood over her as she realizes she has this effect on the older woman. 

Frankie leaves one last kiss on Graces inner thigh before she traces her pointer finger over her plump folds, finding a wetness she didn’t know was possible for women their age. 

“Grace, honey, you’re dripping,” Frankie said, her voice deeper than Grace had ever heard it but Grace didn’t notice, her mind was too preoccupied with what the younger woman between her legs was going to do and how she hadn’t done anything yet and Grace felt like she was going to explode. 

Frankie dove in, her mouth as eager as it was during that first kiss. She lapped up everything Grace had to offer her, she breathed her in, she loved how she tasted. Frankie moaned against Grace, sending shivers up Graces body. Grace was still begging, begging for more, begging for it to never end, neither of them registered it though. They were too focused on what was happening. 

Frankie sunk two fingers into Graces hot, tight core and Grace bucked her hips into Frankies face. Frankie curled her fingers into Graces g-spot, expertly as her tongue circled Graces clit. 

“Frankie, I’mgonnafuckingcumifyoudon’tstop,” Grace practically screamed, all one breathe, the sentence coming out basically as only one word. 

Grace was pulling Frankies hair now, pulling her away. 

“Grace, what are you doing?” Frankie asked, confused. 

“It can’t end yet,” she answered, eyes wild, out of breath. “It just started, it can’t end yet,” she cried. 

“Oh, Grace, I promise I will do this every chance I get until the moment I die, please, let me do this, let me make you scream my name. Honey, I need to see you cum,” Frankie said, her voice low again. She stood up, just high enough to kiss Grace on the lips. 

Frankie only meant for it to be a peck, but Grace wrapped her arms around Frankies back and pulled her down on top of her on the couch. Frankie was straddling Grace and Grace was pulling up Frankies skirt, and trying to lift her shift off at once. 

“I’ve never tasted myself before,” Grace confessed, after they broke the kiss. 

 

“Patience, darling, we have a lot of time,” Frankie said as calmly as she could while she lifted her shirt above her head. She dove back into Graces mouth with her own, taking her time, slowing down. She let Grace taste herself on Frankies tongue, and she moaned when Graces hands found her newly exposed breasts. 

Frankie broke the kiss to continue her journey down Graces body. She returned her fingers back to their home, curling them into Grace. She watched Grace as her eyes began to close, Grace was really fighting this orgasm, but Frankie fought harder. The only thing Frankie wanted more than to taste Grace again, was to watch her come undone. 

Her two fingers curled inside of Grace and her other hand gave Graces clitoris attention. Her thumb circled Graces tightly wound bundle of nerves in a figure 8 motion, while Frankies eyes were glued to Graces face. 

Graces mouth hung slightly open, her eyes drifted shut, her breathing was erratic, her hands were searching for something to stabilize her and she decided on the back of Frankies head. Graces legs were twitching, and her toes were curling. Grace arched her back and her little whimpers became uncontrollable moans. Graces eyes snapped open, and her hand left the back of Frankies head and went to the pillow next to her, she squeezed it hard. Frankie locked eyes with Grace and Graces body began to shake, her core tightened around Frankies fingers so tight she couldn’t move them, Frankie continued to manipulate her clit as Graces eyes clamped tightly shut, only for a second. Her moans turned into words, some she could make out (fuck, oh god, Frankie) some she couldn’t, her eyes became wider. Frankie helped her ride out her orgasm for as long as possible, never taking her eyes off the woman before her. Frankie had never seen anything so magical, anything so beautiful. 

Tears began to trickle down Graces cheeks and Frankie immediately was afraid she hurt the older woman. 

“Grace, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?” Frankie asked, her voice full of concern. 

Grace didn’t answer right away, instead she pulled Frankie to her, kissing her gently on the mouth. Frankie could taste Graces tears in the kiss and Grace opened her mouth to Frankie. Frankie took the invitation, as quickly as it was offered. And the kiss that started slow was now another fire that burned deep inside of Frankie, and she was pretty sure ignited in Grace, as well even though Frankie just put that fire out. Grace broke the kiss, and lowered her eyes. 

“That’s never happened to me before, Frankie,” Grace whispered. 

“What?” Frankie answered. 

“An orgasm like that. I’m not even sure if what Ive had would be considered an orgasm compared to what you just gave me,” Grace said, finally meeting Frankies eye. 

“Oh, honey,” Frankie said, her thumb tracing away a tear, “I hope you let me make it up to you all the orgasms you’ve missed in this lifetime. Because that is a sight, sound, and taste I will never get sick of,” Frankie said, slipping her still sticky fingers into her mouth and letting go of them with a pop. 

Graces mouth hung open, that same aroused look on her face that was there earlier makes an appearance again as Grace licks her lips. 

“Promise me you’ll stay?” Grace asked, her eyes searching Frankies for an answer. 

“Nothing in this world could ever make me leave, Grace Hanson, you’re stuck with me for good, lady,” Frankie said with a grin as Graces skinny fingers began to pull at the waist band of Frankies skirt. 

“I love you,” Grace whispered as she leaned in, pulling Frankie towards her, their lips colliding in a kiss that quickly turned to more. Her lips turned up in a smile as Frankie continued kissed her, and lick at her bottom lip. 

Grace had never been happier in all of her 75 years on this earth because of Frankie and to think she owed it all to a little vulnerability and a voicemail.


End file.
